


And I'll use you as a focal point. (So I don't lose sight of what I want.)

by Elexiacharlie



Series: I found. (Percy Jackson AU) [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: AU, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson-centric, BAMF Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson), BAMF Nico di Angelo, BAMF Percy Jackson, Bisexual Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson), Bisexual Percy Jackson, Book 1: The Lightning Thief (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Character Death, Child Abuse, Dark, Dark Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson), Dark Percy Jackson, Evil, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, One-Sided Nico di Angelo/Percy Jackson, Pining Percy Jackson, Please Kill Me, Sexual Content, Suicide Attempt, dead sally, implied percabeth - Freeform, implied percico, percy joined kronos, runaway annabeth, tw in notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elexiacharlie/pseuds/Elexiacharlie
Summary: There, in Percy’s hands, is the Master Bolt. It crackles quietly and thrums with untold power. Right now, Percy could obliterate anything (or any god) who crosses him.For the first time in his life, Percy feels in control.For the first time, he has a thirst for power.Or,In which Percy Jackson joins Kronos at the end of the summer.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Luke Castellan/Percy Jackson (implied/referenced)
Series: I found. (Percy Jackson AU) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064324
Comments: 15
Kudos: 116





	1. I. We feel grief

**Author's Note:**

> TW: There are some major (graphic) depictions of child abuse and implied/referenced suicide.

Percy is five when Gabe breaks his arm; six when he breaks the next one. He’s so used to the incessant, skin tearing pain that he doesn’t blink when Mrs Dodds tears a chunk out of his arm.

He’s ten.

Luke. Kind, helpful Luke. (Handsome Luke, is what his mind says as well, though he’ll later deny it.)

He gives Percy a spot on his floor, a toothbrush and a sleeping bag, along with a shoebox for the Minotaur horn.

He hasn’t cried since Gabe broke his arm. (Although this time he wants to. He wants relief from the constant torture and mental torment. He wants a break.) But his mom is dead and that night her screams echo in his head.

He wakes with sore eyes leaking tears.

It is six months later when eleven-year-old Percy is given his quest.

Since his mom died, Percy has been staying with Luke, learning to fight.

He’s especially good with a sword.  
“You could be the next Achilles, Perce” is what Luke tells him. (Percy beams.) Luke also tells him off his plans with Kronos: he’s running away.

And on that fateful night of Percy’s capture the flag game, he’s claimed by Poseidon. In the creek after Clarisse La Rue tried to kill him.

For the first time in months, he’s alone.

He cries again that night.

Zeus has lost his master bolt and blames Poseidon.

That night, Percy is visited by his father, called a failure and hopeless.

Percy hopes he fails.

Percy is sent on the quest alone. No backup. No other demigods. Alone.

He was set up to die.

Percy remembers when Gabe used to burn holes into his skin with cigarettes when the fury tears into his arm like Mrs Dodds had a year prior.

He remembers how Gabe used to crack beer bottles over his head when Medusa and her sisters corner him at the stone festival. They hold him down whilst Medusa’s snakes pry open his eyes. With a flash of metal, they are gone, but not before they caused permanent damage. The thin lacerations on his wrists will forever remind him of torture.

He remembers how Gabe first tried to drown him: in the bathtub of day-old piss and stale beer, a dog collar around his neck.

( Percy is seven when he is nearly asphyxiated by his stepfather. It’s a miracle he’s still breathing. )

Percy flings himself off St.Louis arch in hopes his father will save him from Echidna and the Chimera.

He doesn’t.

(He’s drowning.....slowly.....but drowning still. His clothes drag him down.

Percy can’t breathe.)

Percy is dragged ashore by a girl in blue.

She’s pretty, he decides, with a cute button nose dusted with freckles and wild, curly blonde hair. Her stormy grey eyes are piercing and curious. He likes her, he decides, she saved Percy’s life.

“You drool in your sleep” is the last thing Percy remembers before he passes out again.

(Blue is now his favourite colour.)

The girl’s name is Annabeth. She speaks like she reads the dictionary every night and carries herself like a soldier.

She’s a daughter of Athena.

(She’s beautiful.)

Annabeth is smart; she knows what kind of places to avoid. He nearly walks into an empousa den when she roughly pulls him back. She berates him harshly and calls him all kinds of names, but hugs him and checks him over for bruises.

(Later, she’s awake at night making sure he doesn’t die.)

When Percy asks why she responds with: “we’re friends, seaweed brain. Any more stupid questions?”

A hellhound finds them.

Whilst Percy is frozen in fear, Annabeth brandishes her celestial bronze knife and riptide.

It takes her 30 seconds to reduce it to dust.

(Someone has tried to kill him with a hellhound before.

Percy tries so hard to forget.)

Annabeth is insistent that they stick together. She’s been alone for years, she tells him and has never been to camp. Percy asks where she got her knife (the bronze weapon taunts him quietly) but she stalks off with a huff.

He doesn’t ask again.

(Annabeth stabs herself with it, and Percy wakes to her horrifying screams.

He has nightmares after that.)

They are ambushed by furies- kindly ones, Annabeth had called them- but Annabeth is bleeding. Pools of crimson seep out of her side, staining the grass a deep red, and Percy thinks this is what attracted them.

Furies have great senses, good ears, good noses, and it's a miracle they didn't find him earlier.

Mrs Dodds is there- Alecto she called herself- and asks for the bolt -just like at Yancy Academy.

Percy glances back at Annabeth: her face is a pasty white from the blood loss and her usually keen eyes are misty.

He needs to kill them and get some help.

He uncaps riptide- the only thing given to help him on his quest- and slices the air. They're quick but Percy’s slices and jabs are precise and land on them every time.

When Percy jabs down on Alecto's sister, she screams, she explodes into dust. Percy does the same thing to the next one- he grabs her neck and pulls- and all that's left is a claw.

Finally, Percy advances on Alecto. The crazed look in his eyes and the golden dust smeared on his face are enough to scare her. She doesn't even scream.

(Percy remembers when Gabe bought a nine tail whip to beat him properly.

His back burns.)

Percy uses the last of the nectar to slow down the bleeding, but Annabeth’s wound is still gaping open. His hand is pressed on the shirt covered in their blood covering Annabeth.

Percy doesn’t know what to do. He entertains the idea of iris-messaging Chiron- something Luke taught him after his first sword fighting lesson- but decides against it; he’ll have to use mortal supplies.

After he gets Annabeth settled behind a few dustbins, Percy sets off to find a pharmacy. He manages to convince the pharmacist that he’s a young homeless boy and requires some help before he just bonks her on the head. He causes a ruckus- countless workers and customers lurching to catch him, but he slithers out of their grasp by overtopping the counter. He runs into the backroom, surprising the workers, and tips a shelf over violently. Percy shifts through the supplies until he comes to the medical thread and needle encased in the box- why do they have this in a pharmacy?- and grabs it. He jumps for the back door, knocking over another shelf, to escape the shouting crowd that has formed.

When he reaches Annabeth she is worryingly cold and pale. Percy shakes her but she is uncompliant. He’s going to have to do it himself.

He remembers when his mother would stitch up his back after a particularly bad day- she would use the needle and tweezers. A sterile needle and tweezers. Percy has to decide whether Annabeth suffers from a gaping wound or an infection. She dies either way.

Percy gets to stitching.

(Percy burns his stolen twinkie for Tyche, that night, and for the luck she offered him. He knows you can't come across medical thread and needles in a measly pharmacy.)

The black lines zigzag across Annabeth’s stomach, un-even and stark against her clammy skin. Her usual tan refuses to return as Percy waits for Annabeth to wake up.

“Damn kid, that’s a nasty cut.” There’s a voice, deep and powerful, that makes Percy want to punch him in the face.

Standing behind him is a man decked in a leather biker jacket and combat pants. His shoes are your typical military boots, although polished and shiny, and his dark hair is pulled into a tight bun. He smiles at Percy tauntingly, his white teeth bared like a shark’s, and casually removes the sunglasses that were concealing his eyes. He seems like your typical biker- muscular, arrogant and rude- but his eyes have no pupils, only blazing pools of lava that climb higher with every breath. Now that Percy looks harder, there’s a blood-red aura encasing him in a godly flame. Yes, this man standing before him is a god.

Percy immediately rips out riptide, levelling the three-foot blade at the god, and positions himself in front of Annabeth.

The god holds in hands up in surrender and says “whoa kid, I only wanted to help” gesturing behind Percy- to Annabeth.

"What?" Percy demands and shuffles back so he's closer to Annabeth.

“I’ll help her,” he reassures, and Percy lowers his sword, “if you help a god out.” He’s placating, but that doesn’t stop Percy from wanting to punch him. He comes to the sudden revelation.

“You’re Clarisse’s dad. Ares,” Percy gasps, and his initial defence is back up. “Why are you helping us?”

“Oh yes, you made short work of my children- we were having a hoot about it on Olympus. Not to worry, I don’t hold grudges, kid,” Ares says, dismissing Percy’s last comment, "but I do believe in an eye for an eye."

Suddenly, it gets unbearably hot, and Percy feels like he's wax melting when a flame is lit.

"So you'll help her...what do I have to do?"

So Percy is ambushed in a theme park by spiders, trapped in a celestial bronze net, and yeeted into a wall.

He is not happy, but if it gets Annabeth the help she needs, then it's worth it.

(He remembers the first time Smelly Gabe physically hurt him; he's four and Gabe needs some money.

Percy doesn't have any. The hole in the wall is still there, seven years later.)

When he gets to the diner Ares told him to rendezvous, he shoves the shield in Ares' face.

"What the fuck was that?" Percy demands, "I could have died, you piece of shit!"

He's bloody, wet, tired and angry. Very angry- and being in the same vicinity as the god of war is not helping.

"Well in case you didn't know kid, that was kind of the point," Ares answers, his machine gun switching to a double-edged sword in a matter of seconds. "But you survived so...I underestimated you," he bitterly mutters under his breath, "evidently."

Annabeth is there, Percy finally realises, and she’s nibbling at salted chips like they're going to attack at any minute. Like Percy, she's surveilling the room perceptively. Her skin is back to its usual golden glow and her curly hair is washed and tied back in a neat ponytail- she looks like she hasn't been injured at all.

He sighs in relief when Annabeth stands up, a strange backpack in hand, with intent to go.

They don't so much at glance at Ares when they exit the diner.

Percy and Annabeth make their way west- like Percy's prophecy said to.

(When Percy had ascended to the attic, the old mummy had sprouted four lines in green fire:

You shall go west, and face the god who has turned,  
and see what was stolen safely restored.  
You shall be betrayed by one who calls you friend,  
and fail to do what matters most in the end.

The prophecy tells him of a betrayal. Percy can't help but be wary of Annabeth.)


	2. II. We meet Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth and Percy make their way to the Underworld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: non-explicit, implied underage r*pe. Child Abuse. Alcohol Abuse. Drug Misuse. Underage Drug misuse.

**All concerns of men go wrong when they wish to cure evil with evil.**   
  


* * *

The deafening claps of thunder violently shake the makeshift tent Percy and Annabeth built. 

Annabeth is asleep, but Percy remembers when his mother would hold him through a thunderstorm- gently rocking his fragile body- as Gabe would shout drunkenly at the tv that had just gone black. 

Those were the worst nights. 

  
  


By the time it’s nine days to the solstice, they decide to head west- as the prophecy suggested. 

(When Percy recites to Annabeth what the old mummy sprouted, he leaves out the last two lines. 

Now Annabeth skirts around him distractedly, like her mind his running one-thousand-miles per hour.) 

  
  


The two of them hitch a ride with two mortals, Eddie and Maurice, who let them bunk in the back of their truck. 

_KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL_ is printed on the side in bold, bubbly letters making it hell for Percy’s dyslexia to decipher. The title’s ironic, considering the malnourished state in which the animals live- all sickle eyes and bony ribs. 

The pink-painted zebra calls him lord and the albino lion licks his lips in anticipation for a meal. Tied to the antelope’s horns is a single deflated balloon which reads _OVER THE HILLS._

They continue to give Percy wanton looks until they collapse of exhaustion or starvation.

(That night Annabeth tells him of her dad, Frederick, and stepmom, Helen. 

They share Oreos and talks of family as they promise to be each other’s. 

“I’ll be your new family, Annabeth,” he says, “I promise.”) 

  
  


They arrive in Las Vegas the next day. Refreshed with new vigour, they set out to find the master bolt. Entering the hotel was Percy’s idea and the flashing red lights and blinking wheels abuse their senses. The smells, the alluring aroma of sweet lotus, assaults their noses and the screams of joy and ripples of laughter waft to their ears. They are entranced. 

(It reminds Percy of when Gabe would give him the white powder: he would be docile, complying and unassuming. A hazy veil would obstruct his senses and block all contact with his mind. He would be vulnerable. _Exactly_ how Gabe would want him.)

The Lotus Hotel and Casino is good for them, Annabeth and Percy decide, and relax in the bed after a long day of questing and playing packman. 

Percy recounts how he met a strange Italian boy with vague English, all doe-like chocolate eyes and soft olive skin, who introduces himself as Nico. A strange aura encases the boy, Percy tells Annabeth later, but the comfort is there. 

Nico is ten and Percy is eleven, but Percy can’t help but want to see him again. 

(Later, when Percy escapes the hotel’s clutches, he goes back for him. 

He’s nowhere to be found.)

  
  


They spent four days in a dusty haze, and only five days are left till the solstice. The questers still don’t know where to look- though Annabeth has her suspicions: Hades. As far as she knows, the main entrance into the underworld resides in Los Angeles. He has never had a healthy relationship with the Olympians (not that Percy and Annabeth have one either), and Annabeth dubbs that a probable cause for betrayal. They continue west. 

(That night Annabeth talks about Athena. “Goddess of Battle strategy and Wisdom,” she sneers, “but is unable to save her seven-year-old daughter from spiders? Fuck her. Fuck the Olympians.”

Percy can’t help but agree.)

So they make their way to Hollywood, where Hades takes refuge, to recover the bolt. It’s suicidal, demanding something from a god, but Percy knows he’ll get worse from Zeus if he comes back empty-handed. He dreams again that night- in the taxi they hailed earlier- of a dark cavern. A cold, demonic presence glosses over Percy, breathing in laboured breaths down his neck, and his hairs raise like they’re static. He shivers. He can _feel_ the evil seeping into his skin, infecting his cuts and unhealed scars, and the good in him trickles out like tears. 

**“I heard you hated the gods…”**

(Percy remembers his talks with Luke about running away and suddenly the sword in his hand feels heavier. This is **Evil** , he realises.)

  
  


It isn’t hard to convince Charon that they died. With Percy’s sunken eyes and too-sharp cheekbones and Annabeth’s scratches and battle-hardened eyes, they look dead on their feet. The last of their Drachmas grant them quick access across the river Styx. They huddle together, flinching away from the ghosts’ haunting moans, at the very end of the boat. Percy cautiously glances below: bones stretch upward, reaching for a life they’ll never get, and shake wantonly. Forgotten dreams drift pass the boat with children’s voices echoing eerily- _“mommy, I wish he would go away…”_ \- and others are belligerent taunts- _“that’s right, you bitch, you’re mine…”_

(It takes Percy a long time to admit that he’d heard those lines before.)

  
  


Annabeth grabs Percy’s hands when the moaning gets increasingly louder. Her hand is small, boney and cold, but the chipped nails dig into his palm. He squeezes it briefly giving her a reassuring smile. Charon sits at the front of the boat, in his Italian suit clinking with loose change, and occasionally gives them a cursory glance. 

(Maybe he sensed the **Evil** in Percy, who would go on to commission the end of the world.)

  
  


They reach the Palace decked in rubies and gold mined from the earth and glazed with looming shadows and the suffocation of the Dead. It attacks him, the stench of death, violently and balefully. If it isn’t for Annabeth’s steel grip on his arm, Percy would have collapsed. There’s something in his mind telling him to **RUN. YOU DON’T BELONG HERE.**

_He does._

(Percy would become so familiar with the fields of Punishment that he could navigate it blindly.)

  
  


Hades. A name befitted for the god that stands before them. Gaunt features stare blankly into Percy’s, strangely familiar eyes burn with a smouldering fire and the shadows creep towards him and shroud him in a cape. Hades is tall, lithe and gangly- like a teenager who hasn’t quite grown into his body. He wears a crown of skulls and rubies encircled on a dark head of hair that lays limply on his head. He’s almost like a t-rex in his posture, slightly bent with short arms jutting outwards, but his imposing aura exuding around the throneroom is enough for Percy’s bones to rattle. But it’s his voice that reaps the living of their soul. 

Cold and empty. 

But full of regret. 

Full of haunting mass genocide and a god who has seen too much. 

(Too much like the Voice in the Cavern.)

  
  


_**So Percy makes a deal with the Devil.** _


	3. III. We meet the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master Bolt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: slight gore (but not really), implied/referenced abuse. 
> 
> I banged out this one in less than an hour. I would have preferred it to be longer, but it seemed the right place to break. 
> 
> Happy reading.

Percy’s soul is heavy. It’s dragging him down, down, down…

Down to hell.

His bag is heavy, scratching away at his spine, burning through his skin. The disgusting smell of burnt flesh resounds in the air. 

The smell of nostalgia. 

He silently slips the bag from his shoulder, reaches inside, and produces a cylinder of energy. Annabeth’s indignant gasp echoes across the silent throne room. There, in Percy’s hands, is the Master Bolt. It crackles quietly and thrums with untold power. Right now, Percy could obliterate anything (or any god) who crosses him. 

For the first time in his life, Percy feels in control. 

For the first time, he has a thirst for power. 

Until the sheen of hope shatters. Hades’ voice is commanding and cold, rallied with an abundance of energy that emits an astounding will to comply. 

Percy draws back. 

  
  
  


“Why should you have this, Hades?” Percy sneers as he holds the bolt in a defensive position. Annabeth has recovered from her initial shock and stands in front of him. “I won’t give this to a god like you.” 

“Did you steal it, boy?” Hades’ voice is scratchy and the tone a little miffed as his power of the Dead continues to prod at Percy’s bones. 

Percy’s silence is all he needs. 

  
  


(He has his suspicions: Luke’s lack of enthusiasm when Percy embarked on his quest, the constant beratement of the Olympians, Luke’s warning of ‘don’t trust anyone’ and the rising suspicion of the winter solstice- a week before Percy’s arrival. Luke may be the lightning thief, but Percy’s sure as hell not returning it.) 

  
  


Hades pounces like a tiger. 

Claws posed. Teeth bared. 

Percy (for a minuscule of a second) hesitates. 

That’s all he needs for the Master Bolt to fly out of his powerless hands. 

Right at Annabeth Chase. 

  
  


(Percy will look back at this moment as ‘this is when I fell in love’ because Annabeth is as ferocious as a lioness.) 

  
  


With the strength and grace of a panther, Annabeth Chase catches the Master Bolt. 

The stagnant air heats up. 

Then the crackling intensifies. 

And the tension in Annabeth’s body dissipates as she points Zeus’ weapon at the King of the Underworld. 

_ “Do you want to die?”  _

(There’s **Evil** in Annabeth.) 

  
  


She might have looked regal in another life. Powerful muscles and determined eyes, with luscious blonde hair and soft skin, but life was cruel. 

She only looks feral- too thin and pale and a ghost-like complexion- as if her brilliant mind had finally failed her. 

But Percy knew this was a timely calculated decision. 

  
  


(He would come to pick and dissect at the genius that is Annabeth Chase’s brain and learn all her tricks and cunning determination. 

He would come to love it.) 

  
  


The moaning of the Dead rattles Percy’s skull as he watches Annabeth face-off Hades. She’s shaking, crocodile tears trickling down her blood-stained face, and the Master Bolt gives an indignant chime as pure energy blasts up Annabeth’s arm. 

She manages to shove Hades back. 

But not before spiderwebs of burns scuttle up her arm. 

Annabeth’s screams are haunting. Deep, mournful screams wretch themselves from her throat. 

Hades’ shadows creep back. 

  
  


(Percy thinks of his mother and Gabe. 

She screamed like that too.) 

  
  


He rushes forward. 

And meets Hades’ blade that was aiming for Annabeth. 

All of Luke’s hard training pays off when Percy can parry and deflect Hades’ Stygian Iron blade. He slashes and dives, aiming for Hades’ wrists and ankles, whilst the god simply drives forward harder and faster and stronger. 

Percy nearly buckles under the weight of Hades’ blow and aims to block. He’s left himself open. 

Hades strikes.

With much more force than necessary, he bats Percy away like a fly. He goes veering across the throne room landing in a heap with countless broken ribs and new scars. 

  
  


(He ignores the pain and lifts his head. Gabe is there. With a knife and ready to carve words into Percy’s skin. 

LOSER. BITCH. WHORE. 

He takes it in stride.) 

  
  


Annabeth whimpers in pain as Hades lumbers towards her. Her arm throbs as the Master Bolt slowly etches itself permanently into her skin like a tattoo. 

She can’t breathe. 

“What’s your name, girl?” It’s almost fatherly in the tone of voice, with a slight awkwardness, and it almost made Annabeth smile. 

  
  


(It’s been so long since she’s had a father.) 

  
  


“Annabeth,” she answers. Her arm is warm as Hades’ shadowy hand caresses it. The pain becomes bearable. 

“You were tricked.” It isn’t a question. 

“I don’t know,” Annabeth sighs. “It isn’t my quest.” 

Hades’ eyes seem to understand. 

  
  


When Percy comes to, he half-expected to be locked up in a cage and then tortured to death. He doesn’t expect ghosts in white overalls feeding him ambrosia and replacing bandages. 

He definitely doesn’t expect a gentle hand to be slowly massaging his scalp and rubbing his shoulders soothingly. 

“Your Uncle is surprisingly accommodating.” The hands still and turns Percy to face their owner. 

Annabeth looks better than Percy has ever seen her. Better than when Ares healed her earlier in the quest. 

Her skin sports more freckles than usual, with her cheeks glowing a rosy pink, and her strong grey eyes are alive in the dim light of the room. Her golden ringlets are longer and fuller, reaching just below her shoulders, and a smile graces her face. 

She looks healthy. 

(And happy. She hides her arm in a long-sleeved shirt, but Percy can see the lines carved into her hands. 

Her smile falters.) 

  
  


They meet Hades in the throne room when Percy can finally move without wincing. 

It looks like Hades and Annabeth came to an agreement in the two days that Percy was out. 

Leave with the Bolt in an exchange for a favour to Hades. 

Percy agrees. 

  
  


(He would make agreements with Gabe, Percy recalls, use me and you won’t touch mom. 

Percy could never tell if Gabe adhered to them.) 

  
  


They ascend as the storm wages on.

It’s the winter solstice.

-

/

-

/

-

/

-

/

-

/

-

/

That night, the sky would turn black and scream with lightning as the Eagle, the Stallion and the Serpent would prepare for war. 

The Evil only sits back and laughs as his plan comes into action. 

His devout servant stands to his left silently, bowing his head in shame, as they watch two very injured children stumble into a trap of sin. 

“Good things come to those who wait, Luke Castellan,” the Evil peals across the dream tavern, “and I won’t lose a second time.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. IV. We break the narrative.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We break the narrative.  
> A quick look into Luke and his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do a little WandaVision thing here.  
> A quick look into Luke's past with his mother, Thalia and Annabeth. 
> 
> TW: Abuse, knives/cutting, minor violence, major character death.

May Castellan was sweet like honey and as soft as a cloud when she met Hermes. She was an artist, drawing the beasts and towering castles of her dreams when she agreed to drink with Hermes. She was a struggling barmaid harassed by drunks and sobers in between when she discovered she was pregnant by Hermes. She was a toiled escort when she gave birth to a son of Hermes. She was a loving mother when she passed her son to Hermes and ascended to the attic. She was a tainted woman of Hermes when the oracle rejected her. She was a despondent woman when she lost herself and attacked her son by Hermes.

May Castellan was nothing but a shell of a woman made redundant by a curse cast over Maria di Angelo’s dead body. 

Luke Castellan first feels fear when he is seven years old. A halo of smoky green shrouds his mother as she riles on the floor. Her voice isn’t dripping in honey, but frothing with a venomous whisper as she chants about fate and prophecies. Her sharp nails draw blood from Luke’s arms as she whines and whimpers with broken words in an alien language.

Luke understands.

He understands that he must hide when May Castellan glows with a misty green. If he doesn’t, she comes with a knife and slices strange symbols and runes onto his skin. One time, Luke wakes to the sound of a knife etching into delicate skin. He registers the pain later when his mother finishes for the night. 

He has scars of monsters seen in his dreams and runes he can read. 

They tell of the fate of death. 

_Hermes_ , Luke thinks with disdain, always comes with fresh nectar and ambrosia after May has one of her fits. They heal him, but the damage has already been done. He has scars long before he hunts monsters and a stigmatized brain long before the mental games of the Crooked One. Luke will continue to dream of the future as long as May carves magic into his skin. 

(It doesn’t stop.)

The night before he runs away, Luke dreams of a girl of lightning and ratchet black. She’s powerful, it seems, as he can see blue waves roll into the air around her, but kind, as they float in calming rhythms. Occasionally, lightning strikes the pine tree behind her. She speaks in prophecies too. Only these tell of wolves and arrows. 

The day Luke Castellan turns nine, he backs his satchel with books of healing, the celestial bronze knife Hermes gave him and the bow and arrow that was in May’s attic. Luke hesitates as he reaches for the medusa plushie he’s had since he was a baby. Dark red splotches scatter her otherwise pristine body and he remembers the screams and the harrowing pain of a knife to the skin. 

He hacks medusa’s head off and leaves it for May Castellan. 

(She sows it back on and waits for her son to return. His cerulean blue eyes are all she can see and the hair strung from the sun remind her of her youthful self. 

She paints for when he returns.)

Hunting the monsters is easier than them discovering him, Luke finds, and he’s gotten good at killing them. He has momentos, rough claws and sharp spikes, but now he has a sword. He has stopped using the knife (the fast slashing and quick thinking aren’t fit for him) and the bow and arrow are useless in close combat. Luke is good for a ten-year-old. The celestial bronze blade inlaid with imperial gold might be too big, but it’s good for the heavy moving monsters. 

He doesn’t think of his mother who still makes peanut butter sandwiches and jam tarts, and her fits. 

(May Castellan is shrouded in mist when she carves runes into her stomach. 

_ The visions are too much.  _

_ My son.  _

_My son…_

HELP ME...)

Luke is eleven when he finds Thalia Grace. She's got scars too, only she wears them proudly, as a result of her mother in a drunken rage. They meet at a homeless shelter in downtown Chicago when a monster gets too close. They share Thalia’s stolen crisps and Luke’s swiped egg and mayonnaise sandwich as they talk about the monsters they’ve bested and the lives they have had as runaway demigods. 

Thalia ran away when she was nine too, only it was a result of her missing brother Jason. 

That night, Luke dreams of a blond boy with Thalia’s eyes. He cuts a powerful figure in shining armour and holding a golden sword. He’s blond, and tall, with a scar on his lower lip and scratches marring his face. He’s facing off another domineering man who doesn’t wear armour, only a simple t-shirt and jeans, but clutches a sable blade much longer than the blond’s. They clash in a powerful display of a rising tide and sporadic lightning. At the end of the dream, the sable blade embeds itself in the blond’s stomach and the squelching sound of the blade exiting echoes around Luke's head. The man looks up, straight at Luke, and sneers. The green eyes are nearly red in the fusil light. 

(Once Luke wakes, he can still taste ozone and salt.)

They develop a routine, Thalia and Luke, and soon the days bleed into each other and snow starts to fall. The mild weather of autumn is gone, replaced by the biting winds of winter, and the frost creeps onto the ground they sleep on. It becomes too cold to survive outside, so Luke builds hidden shelters in obscure caves and ridges and stacks them with supplies. His skills as a son of Hermes are handy as a runaway, so he steals from shops as Thalia keeps watch. They continue this system as they tour every state, building little homes to return to, slaying monsters and gathering information on any other demigods. Once, Luke discovers a son of Nemesis (his warnings come in dreams) who adamantly refuses any of Luke’s help. They leave New Jersey crestfallen. 

(Luke’s dream is shot through with silver that night. It seems to fall through like water as he witnesses an eyepatched boy kneel in front of a golden coffin. A cold wind bristles his spine as he recognises the ornate moulding encrusting the sides. They are the same pictures his mother used to paint on the walls. 

Great, robust beings meeting swords as towering waves rage behind them. A vast mass of spiralling heliotrope ensnares the earth as a wretched blade of obsidian severs it straight through the middle. Stars explode in agony as if the depictions were alive and the earth tremors in her freedom. It relaxes onto the four arms of Strength as they strain under the weight. Another carving shows transcendent balls of light swallowed by the gaping hole of Trickery only to be released by the Protector with eagle wings. The carvings represent the accolades of the Elder Gods. 

Luke recognises them with ease.)

  
  


Luke and Thalia are fourteen and seasoned warriors. Thalia, who is good with her spear and excellent with a bow, and Luke, who has finally grown into his sword and swings it with practised dexterity. 

Luke and Thalia. A girl and a boy. Two demigods who lack the influence of good parents but are better for it. Thalia is empathetic and kind but also fluctuating in her compassion, so it makes it hard for others to understand her. Luke has built his walls high but doesn’t ignore others in favour of himself. He gives to those who need it whilst Thalia hoards anything close to her. Thalia expresses her anger in cyclonic bursts of power, whilst Luke silently broads and directs it inwards to muster with his self-loathing and hatred. They couldn’t be more different which is probably why it works so well. Thalia’s the brawl and Luke’s the brains. 

Well, he was. 

(He dreams of a little girl and a hammer. She’s small with curious eyes and a fierce spirit. Luke immediately falls in love.)

“No, no, no more monsters!” She attacks in a blur of disorganised limbs and frenzied smacks and punches. Her cheeks are tracked with tears and her face is red with scratches and insomniac, grey eyes flick distractedly from left to right. 

“Wait, it’s okay, kid,” Thalia says, as she grabs her arms tightly, “you’re okay.” 

“Monsters!” Is the kid’s answer. 

“No, we’re not monsters,” this time it’s Luke who speaks, “we’re monster hunters too. We’re like you.”

The kid hesitates and lifts her head to meet Luke’s eyes, “you’re…like me?”

“Yeah, it’s complicated. I’m Luke. This is Thalia.” 

“I’m Annabeth.”

“Hey Annabeth, do you want a real monster-hunting weapon?”

She takes the celestial bronze knife with no hesitation. 

They protect the kid fiercely. She’s the little sister in this messed-up world of gods and monsters. The innocent one to not only protect but also educate. Luke breaks into the library to steal books for her to read and Thalia deftly explains the best way to kill each monster. Annabeth likes books about architecture and history and enjoys the high fantasy genre which gives her an escape from the constant running. Luke teaches her how to pick locks and how to be swift and silent when lifting. 

By the time she’s eight, Annabeth has seen the horrors of the world and deciphered the secret of escapism. Reading a book helps drone out the incessant screaming of the voices in her head. 

She doesn’t tell Luke. 

Luke keeps his secrets and she keeps hers. 

When Thalia receives a vision from the King of the Gods (her father), they make their way north. Flat planes of grass shifts into the lush trees of the forests and the stale air becomes rich with the fresh smell of soil. Luke recounts his dreams of a boy with shaggy fur on his legs and a rasta cap to hide auburn curls. 

A satyr, Thalia says, to escort them to camp. 

A place for kids like them.

Camp Half-blood. 

Somewhere safe from the monsters. 

(Annabeth’s voice says that the monsters are the ones who are protecting them. They talk of corrupt beings residing in the sky, siring monsters and children alike, ready to kill to protect themselves. The voice tells her the true meanings of the myths and heroes of old. The rape, the murder and the exploitation of the lowly citizens. She believes every word.) 

“Grover” is the satyr’s name. He’s pale and seedy with red pimples spotting his face and a slight goatee growing on his chin. Grover’s voice is cracking when he speaks to Luke and he sends a nervous glance to Thalia. 

He doesn’t speak to Annabeth, only tells Luke she’s a daughter of Athena (as they had already suspected). Grover leads them east, winding through forests and abandoned towns, towards where he promises them is safe. 

(Luke dreams of Thalia again. Lightning strikes erratically behind her as she kneels in front of a pine tree. She stares at him, her electric blue eyes fading into a milky white, and speaks in an ancient voice: “ _you will commit a great sin, Luke Castellan_.”)

  
  


Grover is incompetent. He leads the three half-bloods astray and into the den of a cyclops. He’s large and filthy, smelling like blood, and a prodigy in mocking voices. He manages to ensnare Annabeth into his little trap, speaking in panic but possessing Thalia’s voice. 

They have to leave her behind in a burning building. Sweet, little Annabeth with a heart of gold is left by a Protector. Luke and Thalia don’t speak, they only watch in horror as the roof collapses on Annabeth and the cyclops. Her screams haunt Luke for the rest of his life. 

(Later, when Annabeth is wrapped in celestial bronze netting and struggling to escape the fire, the voice speaks aloud. 

**I heard you hated the gods**.) 

  
  


RUN, RUN, RUN, RUN…

Growling and closing in on their heels, hellhounds chase the two half-bloods and the satyr as they approach the camp. Thalia slashes with her spear, barely able to run fast enough to escape their snapping jaws. Grover says it’s Hades, as revenge on Zeus, who continues to hound them with monsters. Luke has a contempt of hatred for the King God who has let his arrogance and corruption infect those below him. They dodge the thick stumps of the trees and kick up mud into the monsters’ eyes but they continue to gain speed as they slow down. 

Luke glances up ahead when Grover clamps a hand onto his arm. A large hill sits proudly in front of them, the crest shielded by oaks and birches, and a sheen of white light glows in the dim moonlight like a thin layer of water. 

“QUICK!” Grover shouts, “it’s there!”

“We won’t get there in time,” Luke gasps through choked tears. 

“We have to!” Grover’s crying now. 

“We won’t!” Luke slices at a hellhound. 

“ _You will…_ ” Thalia launches herself at the hellhounds, bringing down bolts of lightning and giant gusts of wind, as she pushes Luke and Grover up the hill with all her might. 

Luke is fifteen when he feels fear for the last time. 

Thalia, daughter of Zeus, collapses just outside the property line. Her eyes shine with tears and her choppy black hair is ragged with sweat and blood. She dies with a smile on her face and takes her last breath with a shaking laugh. 

Zeus turns her into a pine tree in some twisted display of affection, hoping she will wake and bring Olympus to justice. 

(Luke dreams of owls and wolves that night. The next he dreams of shadows and bones. The next he dreams of lightning and thunder. The next he dreams of dragons and apples. The next he dreams of war so great it will change the course of history for aeons to come.

Luke dreams of the future and all of its calamity.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh, I think there's a bit of foreshadowing in this chapter- so I hope you get it. 
> 
> I want to make Luke less of an obsolete character, as he's Percy's mentor throughout this fanfic. I wanted to give him depth and understanding and hopefully help everyone understand why Luke does what he does. 
> 
> Yes, I know, the barrier was only there after Thalia died, which I find ridiculous. They had to guard the borders 24/7 before Thalia's tree?
> 
> Also, I have no Beta-reader so it's edited by me, who is unable to spot her own mistakes...  
> so please point them out.


	5. V. The fate we were born for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy fights Ares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied/referenced abuse, bodily mutilation, blood & gore, character death, minor swearing, dark!percy

_When a man lies he murders some part of the world,_

_These are the pale deaths which men miscall their lives._

_All this I cannot bear to witness any longer,_

_Cannot the kingdom of salvation take me home?_

  * To Live Is To Die, Metallica. 



4:31-6:50, instrumental. 

* * *

Percy will have to live with the guilt for the rest of his life. Annabeth will have to live with the explosions of scars and grief. He wracks his brain for answers. He knows Luke didn’t give him anything but his clothes that are still in Hell, so how did he come to acquire the bolt? He’s still downtrodden when he and Annabeth catch a taxi out of L.A. They don’t speak, only stare out the windows in disarray as the cab trundles on. 

Annabeth keeps opening her mouth as if to say something only to close it just as quickly. Percy sees her pale slightly and a sheen of sweat coats her face. This time, she does speak. 

“I think it was Ares.” 

Percy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “what?” 

“The bolt, he gave it to me- _you_ , I mean.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’m _saying_ ,” she stresses the word, “that Ares had someone steal the bolt. For someone.”

_The Crooked One_ , Percy thinks. He’s convinced Annabeth already knows this but refrains from voicing his thoughts in case he’s wrong. 

Instead, he asks a question, “what should we do?”

“It’s your quest, Percy, I’m just the tag-along who shouldn’t be here.” She turns away then, pulling on the sleeves of her hoodie to cover her hands. “I shouldn’t even be alive.” 

That’s the end of the conversation. 

(Percy tries to imagine Annabeth dead. She’s lying on the floor, blonde hair limp, with her scarred arms twisted at the wrong angles and her neck mottled with bruises and red lines. She’s barefoot and her ankles are swollen like bruised apples. Protruding from her stomach is a familiar blade. Three foot and celestial bronze, Riptide is bedaubed in a glistening red. Blood. More blood pools out of a dent in Annabeth’s head as she stares at Percy with milky white eyes. Suddenly, her skin decays off her face and the rest of her body until all that’s left is a broken skeleton. Dead Annabeth’s jaw pops open in a piercing banshee screech and green mist pours out of her rotted teeth. Ancient voices reap Percy’s soul as they speak. They overlap in a cacophony of vibrations- neither distinctly male nor female- as they reverberate through Annabeth’s skeleton: _“you have committed a terrible sin, Perseus Jackson, and we have come to restore balance…”_ A palpable snip resounds the air around him as invisible energy throws him back. A high pitched cackle rings and the green mist retreats. 

When Percy blinks, he’s back in the cab with Annabeth breathing quietly beside him. He almost sighs in relief.) 

It isn’t long before they reach Santa Monica Pier. The ocean batters the rocky shore as rain pelts down like bullets. They make their way down to the worse of the storm. Thunder- sans lightning- shakes the sky in a rage and the earth almost shakes in fury. It seems Poseidon is angry. 

Percy almost calls out to him, but the rampant waves only grow taller and the wind whips his wet hair back and forth. Suddenly, a heavy weight presses into his chest so hard he almost falls over. He looks back and Annabeth is gone. 

“What you looking for, kid?” The deep, Texan accent makes Percy’s blood boil as he turns to meet Ares’ shielded eyes. He still looks like the bulking biker he was before, but the two swords sheathed to his waist add to the intimidation. If he looks close enough, they flicker briefly to MK-47s, before they return to the ancient greek weapons they were before. The mist, Percy thinks. 

Ares’ stance is relaxed, but there’s something in the feral smile and the clenched shoulders that put Percy on edge. 

(It’s the same look Gabe would have before he got the whip out.)

The back-pack burns through to Percy’s skin as it senses the powerful god before him. It’s alive; calling to the divine blood Ares carries. A shrill squeak bursts from Percy’s mouth as the Master Bolt flies through the fabric of the pack and up to the agitated sky. 

Defying the laws of physics, like any metaphysical being, lightning strikes the sky with a triumphant, staticity pop. The Master Bolt lights the sky in a range of victorious bursts and the tumultuous waves only get taller in response. 

Percy had almost forgotten that Ares was there until he speaks. 

“So you’ve done it, huh, make the big man upstairs happy. How...fortunate…” the tone of antagonism in Ares’ voice makes the hot-head in Percy eager to fight him. He fingers Riptide in his pocket. 

“You set me up. Where’s Annabeth?” 

Ares sneers, “oh, that witch,” he waves his hand and Annabeth struggles behind him, wrists tied and gagged. “Now, son of Poseidon, we have unfinished business.” 

Ares strikes forward, swinging his dual-xiphoses in a wide arch, ready to split Percy in two. 

_You have the shorter blade, Percy, get in close._

**Luke.**

Percy almost closes his eyes. He smiles wistfully. With Luke on his side, there’s no doubt he’ll win this. 

_He has two swords, so he has the advantage. Destabilise him._ _Knees. Feet. Arms. Find his weak point. He relies on his right side, so strike that._ He does. He feints left, which he’s sure Ares knows, but attacks right instead. Ares slashes at Percy with the sword in his right hand in an aggressive parry then stab, but he jumps out of range. He leaves himself open for a strike. Ares is so focused on hurting Percy that he’s not defending himself. _See? He barely uses the sword in his left hand. Do you remember that disarming technique I taught you?_ Percy nods. _Use it._

Ares throws himself at him again. Percy gets on the inside and makes a slight uppercut that Ares dodges. Another slash. Percy gets closer. Another parry. Percy lunges to Ares’ left. Another jab. With as much force as he could muster, Riptide presses the side of Ares’ blade and twists. The sword drops out of the god’s hand and Percy grabs it faster than either of them had imagined. 

Ares looks stunned. His eyebrows are raised and Percy bets that his pupils are blown wide under his shades. His gaze hardens again, amid Percy’s hesitation, and attacks with a newfound fury. He’s sturdier with one sword, Percy digresses, and uses his other hand to punch and slap Percy when he lowers his guard. 

(It’s almost like his fights with Clarisse. Bulk and brute strength versus speed and agility. Percy has experience with heavy set opponents, all he needs to do is use their size against them. But Ares is a god, with divine strength and stamina, who won’t go down as easily as Clarisse would. He needs some extra strength for himself.) 

Whilst he wields two swords, Percy pushes Ares back. He has a plan that would nearly impress Annabeth, but it would only work if the sea is willing. Hopefully, Poseidon is watching as Percy gets pulverised by a war god. 

“DON’T YOU SEE, KID?” Ares is shouting as the wind whistles louder. “YOU CAN’T BEAT ME! I’M A FUCKING WAR GOD! I WAS BORN FOR THIS SHIT!” 

After another brutal smack, Ares and Percy enter the raging water. With a wicked smirk, Percy chucks Ares’ sword into the sea. “So was I.” 

Tendrils of water slink up Percy’s body as they gently caress his battered skin and wipe away any blood and dirt. His eyes are a hurricane and reflect the colour of the sea calming behind them. Bowing down to its master, the waves lap at Percy’s feet and encircle him in a whirlpool of power. Like an ascending angel, Percy rises above Ares as he lets out an onslaught of slashes on the war god’s soldiers. But every time his hands raise to defend himself, fists of water hold him down.

The saltwater may burn Ares’ wounds, but it only makes Percy stronger. 

Every slap, every punch, every cut and every scar Percy has had to endure is poured into the brutal beating he gives Ares. He wants the embodiment of bloodied battle to _feel_ _pain_. True pain. 

_And he does._

The howling doesn’t register to Percy as he cuts his blade into Ares’ soldier and pulls. His sword tears through flesh and bone as ichor sprays him in the face and the dismembered arm falls through the fisted water. 

Percy flees from the scene with a traumatised Annabeth and a new curse. 

_“You’ve made an enemy today, Perseus Jackson, the one time you will need your sword the most, it will fail you. Beware my curse, sea spawn, beware…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...hehe...
> 
> I mean, he asked for it. 
> 
> Also Dark!Percy anyone?
> 
> i obviously edited this myself, so, please point out any discrepancies in my writing. 
> 
> and please mention any other trigger warnings I could add.

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME.
> 
> This is the first part of a series.


End file.
